


Poems About Justice

by LittleBlueLantern



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, F/F, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Peter totally gets what he deserves, Revenge, Smut, This would be somewhere around/after season 2, allison is a bamf, like really, so is Lydia, the stiles/scott is seriously just background, this is Lydia/Allison centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-27
Updated: 2014-08-27
Packaged: 2018-02-11 20:37:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2082327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleBlueLantern/pseuds/LittleBlueLantern
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's violent and furious, but it's over quickly. Allison's aim has never been steadier, sinking arrow after arrow into Peter's chest. She watches with cool eyes as Peter staggers, half-shifted, baring his fangs in a snarl. </p><p>Alison hands Lydia the last arrow. </p><p>"This one is yours."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poems About Justice

Scott tries to convince them otherwise, then, seeing their resolve, begs them to let him take care of it. Lydia's heart aches, knowing he would do this for her, change the color of his eyes - which is why he can't. Scott, out of all of them, has to remain good.  For her, this death will be fire, scorching her soul clean. Unlike Scott, she’s always been good at hiding bloodstains. 

Stiles is the one who convinces Scott, in the end. 

"Scott," he says, placing a hand on Scott's forearm. Scott quiets immediately. 

“Let them go,” Stiles says gently, folding Scott into his chest. “This is something that should’ve happened a year ago.”

Allison nods. “He’s twisted, Scott." Scott looks at her, face torn. Something in Allison's expression softens. "You'll never be able to trust him," she says quietly. "And that's something this pack just can’t have if it’s going to survive.”

Stiles looks at her and Lydia remembers: feels the claws in her side, the sound of Stiles being dragged away even as his hands reached for her, kisses turning to rotting flesh. No, Peter has not been gentle, to any of them. Jennifer, too, Lydia suspects, has most likely met a permanent end at Peter’s claws. Not that she cares about Jennifer - the phantom twinge of the garrotte still chokes her dreams at night. Still. A bloodthirsty, intelligent madman is a bloodthirsty, intelligent madman, no matter his logic.

Scott’s shoulders straighten. When he raises his head to look at them, his eyes glow red. 

“Make sure he stays down.”

 

***

 

She had been silent and steady for the drive over, but Lydia trembles as they take the elevator. Allison cups her cheek in her hand, eyes barely betraying her concern. Lydia knows there are no black lines running up Allison’s arms, but she imagines them all the same: steady curling vines drawing away her pain.  _The girl who runs with wolves,_ Lydia thinks. _Sharper bite than any of them._

“Ready?”, Allison asks, hand still on Lydia’s cheek.

She could walk away, she knows. But where would be the fun in that?

"Ready.” And she slams the button. 

 

It's violent and furious, but it's over quickly. Allison's aim has never been steadier, sinking arrow after arrow into Peter's chest. She watches with cool eyes as Peter staggers, half-shifted, baring his fangs in a snarl. Allison hands Lydia the last arrow. 

"This one is yours."

She takes it with calm hands, turning it over, fingers ghosting over the point. Even with human eyes, she can see the taint of wolfsbane seeping from the metal. Her heels click as she crosses over to Peter, who's blood is bubbling up around his lips, frothing down his throat like a rabid dog waiting to be put down. 

She spins the arrow casually in her left hand, Peter tracking the movement. 

"It won't help," Peter says through gritted teeth, smiling around the blood. "Death rarely fixes anything."

Lydia arches an eyebrow. 

"You think killing me will make all the nightmares go away? Precious. Why don't you - "

Lydia stabs the arrow through his throat and twists, slicing downwards into his thoracic cavity in one long, smooth stroke. Peter dies surprised, like out of all the possible outcomes, this one had never crossed his mind. 

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Lydia notes that his blood is staining her shoes. She finds she doesn’t care. 

 

They burn the body in the reserve, near the shell of the Hale house. 

“Where this all started,” Allison says, flicking open the bottle of lighter fluid.

“Where it ends,” Lydia finishes for her, striking a match. 

The body - it’s not Peter, not anymore - takes hours to turn to ash, the smell of burning flesh thick in the evening air. Any and all remaining bones are smashed and scattered, given to the wind to be blown elsewhere. The girls are silent during the whole ordeal, pausing only to wipe droplets of sweat from their faces or add more wood to the flames. Towards the end, Allison pulls two beers out of the backseat; Lydia sips hers slowly, the heady thrill of Peter’s final expression combining with the alcohol to create a warm buzz in her skull. 

Allison guides her to the car, the beer bottles clasped loosely in her hand. Lydia watches the dying embers in the rearview mirror, then reaches her hand towards Allison’s, entwining their fingers together. Allison doesn’t let go at any point during the drive back. 

They’re pulling into Lydia’s driveway when Lydia says, looking straight ahead, “He never believed anyone else would go to the same lengths he did for revenge.”

Allison turns off the ignition and looks across at her from the steering wheel. 

“He should’ve known better.” 

It’s a solemn statement, a solemn moment, yet a laugh bubbles its way out of Lydia’s chest, sparkling loud and clear in the darkened car. The giggles are infectious, and soon Allison is laughing too, clutching the steering wheel as she struggles to breathe through the tears. They’re happy ones, though, and Lydia remembers, faintly, a study where slides of teardrops collected from individuals undergoing various emotions had been put under a microscope, how the structural patterns differentiated. She thinks Allison’s tears would be beautiful. 

It’s this haphazard train of thought that causes Lydia to lean forward, fingers wiping away the tears on Allison’s face. Allison hiccups, softly, and grins at her, sighing into her palm. 

“Wanna go inside?” Allison asks, still leaning into Lydia’s hand. 

Lydia nods.

They make their way up the driveway, arms thrown around each other’s waists and shoulders. Any passerby would’ve thought they were drunk, from the way they wavered and wandered along the path. 

 

It’s dark inside the house, but Lydia ignores the switches, instead pulling Allison up the stairs to her bedroom, footing sure in the dark. Allison treads after her, fingers idly rubbing circles into Lydia’s waist. Lydia shucks her shirt over her head, drops her bra on the carpet, tosses her skirt over the back of a chair. She collapses with a _whumpth_ onto the bed, all the air leaving  her lungs in a heady exhale. Lydia hears the soft whisper of fabric being removed, feels the bed spring as Allison falls next to her. 

Allison’s phone glows sickly white in the darkened room, the clicking of the keys audible even with one ear pressed into the mattress. After a few minutes, the phone buzzes back in response. Allison drops it lightly onto the bedside table.

“I let Stiles know we’re alive. He’ll tell Scott.”

Lydia mumbles something in agreement, settling deeper into the bed. 

Allison nuzzles into the nape of Lydia’s neck, moulding herself along Lydia’s spine. She slides her hand along the curve and hollow of Lydia’s hip, the planes of her stomach. Lydia’s breath hitches as Allison’s fingers pause, playing with the elastic band of her underwear. Lydia rolls her eyes as she feels Allison grin into her neck. 

“Get on with it,” Lydia huffs, rolling her hips against Allison’s hand. Allison nips her ear, places a gentle kiss in the shadows of Lydia’s neck. 

“No.”

Languidly, Allison traces patterns on Lydia’s thighs, propping herself up on one arm so she can observe Lydia’s face in the darkness. Lydia’s feet clench in the sheets, desperately trying to regain the friction from earlier. Allison’s a hunter for a reason, though, and she easily holds Lydia down, grinning as she dips down to suck a bruise near Lydia’s hip. Lydia’s jolts at the contact, winding her hand through Allison’s hair in an attempt to bring her mouth lower, lower, closer to the ocean steadily building between her legs. 

“Have patience,” Allison murmurs into Lydia’s skin, her lips brushing over Lydia’s ribcage.

Lydia winds her hand deeper into Allison’s hair. Mimics Allison’s voice, throws her earlier refusal back at her. “No,” she says, batting her lashes at Allison sweetly.

Allison smiles, moving her mouth back up to Lydia’s ear. “If you’re good,” she murmurs, “I’ll fuck you open with my tongue.” Her fingers are already pulling at Lydia’s underwear, sliding it down and off of her ankles till they’re both bare.

Blush rises on Lydia’s cheeks, and her eyes go dark. She licks her lips, once, twice. “Get to it, then,” she says, but the hand in Allison’s hair relaxes, moving down to stroke Allison’s cheek before settling onto the sheets. 

Allison lathes a path down Lydia’s body with her tongue, stopping to circle her breasts, tracing her nipples, watching as they turn a lovely, deep-rose color and stiffen under her eyes. 

“Stop looking so smug,” Lydia says, the phrasing ruined somewhat by her blown pupils and laboured breathing.

Allison crooks a finger against Lydia’s heat in response, savouring the shudder that runs through Lydia’s body. Slowly licks the inner crease of Lydia’s thigh. 

“Allison - ” Lydia breaks off, head tossed back on the pillows. “Please - ”

Allison places a kiss right between Lydia’s legs, cutting off Lydia’s low moan. She ‘gets to it’, curling and stroking her tongue across Lydia’s clit, one hand holding her open, another holding her down. Allison groans, sending tremors through Lydia’s body. Allison’s not a werewolf, doesn’t have the super-strength or super-senses, but she doesn’t need them. Not now, with Lydia’s scent painting her face and flooding her mouth, the sound of fingers and toes clenching against the sheets deafening in the stillness. 

Allison curls her tongue deeper, thrusts until her jaw is sore, her arms holding Lydia’s hips in a vise-like grip. One of Lydia’s hands is fisted in Allison’s hair, rubbing back and forth in sync with Allison’s tongue. The noises sound especially obscene in the empty house, the room echoing with Lydia’s low cries and the muffled groans of Allison between her legs.

She licks and tastes until Lydia’s dripping, till her face is coated and shining with Lydia’s arousal, then keeps going. 

Lydia screams when she comes, back arching against the sheets. Unlike so many times before, though, this is not a scream of death. 

Allison’s hands tighten their hold on Lydia’s thighs briefly, then rub up and down, fingers soft on sensitive skin.

Lydia’s breathing harshly, gasps of air shaking her chest. Her lips are bitten red, and her eyes blown wide. She pulls Allison up by her hair, smoothing out the sting with shaking fingers and hungry kisses. 

There’s a million things she’s not saying out loud, things like, _I’m so proud of you, you did so well, he’ll never touch you again, I wanted to kiss you as he burned,_ but she waits, using her lips and hands instead. There will be a time for words later, when the sun is shining and the ghosts aren’t as visible. Right now, this is about them. About Lydia. About survival. 

As Lydia’s fingers curl deep inside her, Allison bites into her shoulder, arms wrapped tight around each other. Lydia guides her through the aftershocks, and they move languidly together, grinding slowly, kissing now not for release but for comfort, reassurance - the contact as simple and crucial as breathing. 

 

They fall asleep curled around each other, two little girls ready and willing to set the world on fire.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I just found it really unbelievable that Peter was allowed to traipse merrily around Beacon Hills after everything he'd done, to multiple members of the pack. So. This was my way of 'fixing' that. Comments always appreciated!
> 
> Also: the thing about the tears that Lydia mentioned is a real deal, and more info can be found at this link: http://www.rose-lynnfisher.com/tears.html


End file.
